


Tindo's 30 Day OTP Challenge (Johnlock)

by Tindomerelhloni



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 30 Day OTP Challenge, Case, Cosplay, Cuddling, Drag Queen, Friends to Loves, Genderswap, Humor, John is a pretty lady, John makes Sherlock watch Doctor Who, John wears his army stuff, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Making Out, NSFW, Relationship progress, Sherlock is a pretty lady, Sherlock's wears John's jumper, Smut, Virgin Sherlock, blowjob, cosplaying, hand holding, more tags to come, on a date, setting rules, sort of, they're both pretty, watching a movie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-11-07 20:52:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 11,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11066898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tindomerelhloni/pseuds/Tindomerelhloni
Summary: As an attempt to power through writers block I've decided to attempt this. Each "day" will be a chapter and will be anywhere between 500-1000 words. I'll do my utmost best to post a chapter a day, but it might be more like a few updates a week.Challenge is as follows.01 - Holding hands02 - Cuddling somewhere03 - Gaming/watching a movie04 - On a date05 - Kissing06 - Wearing eachothers’ clothes07 - Cosplaying08 - Shopping09 - Hanging out with friends10 - With animal ears11 - Wearing kigurumis12 - Making out13 - Eating icecream14 - Genderswapped15 - In a different clothing style16 - During their morning ritual(s)17 - Spooning18 - Doing something together19 - In formal wear20 - Dancing21 - Cooking/baking22 - In battle, side-by-side23 - Arguing24 - Making up afterwards25 - Gazing into eachothers’ eyes26 - Getting married27 - On one of their birthdays28 - Doing something ridiculous29 - Doing something sweet30 - Doing something hot





	1. Day One: Holding Hands

It had been two weeks, four hours, seventeen minutes and roughly twelve seconds since the high of Sherlock's last case had worn off. Sherlock was, in simple words, bored. He'd spent the last three days wearing the same clothes (he did change his pants, not that he had anyone to impress), wearing the same dressing gown, and practically wearing out a "Sherlock Holmes" shape in the sofa. Nothing seemed interesting to the detective. John had suggested stupid, mundane, things. Like

"Go for a walk, Sherlock. Fresh air might do you some good."

Or.

"Check your blog, someone's gone and said that you've made an error on your cigarette ash."

That didn't even get Sherlock to open his eyes.

"For god's sake, have a smoke. You're actually starting to scare me. Have you moved since Tuesday?" John, who had been standing over him at that point, nudge the small of his back with his knee and Sherlock simply grunted. "Right, I'm going out. Take a shower, eat something, have a smoke. Whatever, just bloody do something."

With that, feeling he'd done all he could for his lethargic friend, John walked off in the direction of his bedroom. John didn't come back down for another twenty minutes. And when he did, he ignored Sherlock completely in favor of heading towards the bathroom. Sherlock thought nothing of it. That is, until the sounds of the sink being turned on, John had been after him for a month now to ask Mrs. Hudson to replace the squeaky faucet, then the tell tale sounds of John brushing his teeth.

That, and that alone, made Sherlock surge to his feet. He stepped onto, and past the coffee table, his bare feet hardly touching the floor thanks to the speed he was going, and came to a full stop at the bathroom door.

"You're up? Need the loo?" John asked, less than gracefully as a big of toothpaste foam dribbled down his chin and threatened to ruin his crisp button up.

Button up, shaved this morning, brushing his teeth, date shoes, hair gel. Jesus, he's hoping to get lucky tonight.

"Sherlock, do you need the loo?" John asked again, this time after spitting his mouthful into the sink in an effort to save his shirt.

"You're going out. On a date. With a girl." Sherlock muttered, unable to look John directly in the eyes.

"Mmmm yes. Good deduction, that."

Then, before he could stop himself, Sherlock whispered, "don't."

"Why, are you sick?" The good doctor was beside him in an instant, toothbrush abandoned in the sink, pressing the back of his hand against Sherlock's forehead and looking directly into his eyes.

"No... not exactly." Sherlock forced himself to look back into those deep blue eyes that were so carefully checking him for signs of ailment.

"Then what? Danger night?"

"No." Sherlock shook his head and bit back tears. "I just can't stand it. Can't stand seeing you go out. Dating... someone who.. isn't me."

John let out a sigh and his hand fell from Sherlock's forehead and Sherlock thought that was it, that John would push past him, grab his wallet and spend a few nights on some random sofa, before coming to collect his things. So when both of John's hands softly brushed against his own, he blinked away a tear and looked up to see John biting his lips.

"I never knew... I, well, we all did, thought you didn't have 'those' feelings." John's soft, but calloused hands were now gently squeezing Sherlock's and Sherlock couldn't help but look down to where his left hand was entwined with John's right hand.

"I didn't. Not until you came along. That first night, when you asked me if I had a girlfriend. It was easy to say no. But when you asked if I had a boyfriend... John, I wanted to reach across the table and kiss you, then smile and say 'I do now. '."

"Wish you had." John laughed, and it was that silly little chuckle of his that Sherlock only got to hear at the end of a case, or when they were making fun of Mycroft. The sound made tears come to Sherlock's eyes, and then he was crying, and John was brushing his tears away with the soft pad of his thumb. And there, standing half in the loo, half in the halfway, Sherlock swore he found heaven.


	2. Day Two: Cuddling Somewhere

“Could we…” Sherlock nodded his head in the general direction of not the bathroom, and John grinned his lopsided For-Sherlock-Only smile and gave Sherlock a tiny shove backwards until they were both in the hall. “Where…”

“Sofa,” John answered immediately and squeezed Sherlock’s hand, “I’ve waited far too long to cuddle with you.”

“Oh…” Sherlock, with John’s help, somehow made it into their lounge and stared down at the sofa, “How?”

“Hmm… like this, I think.” John kicked off his date shoes, and crawled onto the sofa, pressing his back flat against the back cushions then patted the surface beside him. “Face either way, whatever makes you comfortable.”

  
Sherlock contemplated for a moment, then deciding that in their bodies would fit together better if his back were against John, laid down and stretched out. As soon as he as settled John gave a little wiggle, then left his right arm over Sherlock's torso. Sherlock gasped at the sensation and let out a barely audible moan when John tightened his grip.

"Alright?"

“Alright?” Sherlock drawled, “the words superlative and marvelous come to mind.” Sherlock sighed and placed a hand over John’s where it was flattened just over his heart. “I never quite understood why people cared, craved even, for human touch.”

“And now?” John pressed half a dozen feather light kisses to the nape of Sherlock’s neck, causing his detective to let out a series of rather loud mewl.

“Let's just say,” Sherlock breathed out, “I understand why so many crimes revolve around love. Keep… doing… that…” he added when John stopped kissing his neck.

“What? This?” John let his lips slide across sherlock’s neck and added a small bit of suction to his kiss.

“On god yes.” Sherlock shuddered and wiggled back against John, then stopped when he felt a rather telling hardness pressing against his arse.

“Sorry bout that,” John blushed a little and stopped his kissing for a moment. “Can’t seem to help it, what with the kissing and all the wiggling you're doing.”

“I'm…. not…. just not ready, yet.” Sherlock spluttered out and John kissed his neck again, this time reassuringly.

“I know, luv. I know… it's just new.”

“Mmm.” Sherlock nodded a little and relaxed again, letting his eyes flutter closed.

Mrs. Hudson chose that exact moment to walk into the flat with their shopping, knocking on the doorframe with her little “who-hoo.” and all but stared in shock at the two men spooning on the sofa.

“Oh, it's about time.” She said matter of factly, and with a pleased little nod towards them walked through the flat and into the kitchen.

“Oi, what does she mean by that?” John grumbled out, craning his neck over Sherlock’s head to stare after their landlady.

“Just that half of London thinks you're together, so it's about bloody time!” She stepped back into the lounge and shook her head at them. “I thought you'd never get over yourselves.”

“Err…” John stammered out, and unsure if he should be offended or find the whole situation funny, decided a healthy mixture of the two was in order. Sherlock, on the other hand let out a soft chuckle and gave his landlady a wink.

“You should make us dinner, to celebrate.”

“I'll order you both a pizza, not your housekeeper, dear.” Mrs. Hudson tutted at him and Sherlock shrugged as she walked back into the kitchen.

“It was worth a try…”

John burst out laughing.


	3. Day Three: Watching A Movie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, this is a bit more of them "getting ready to watch a movie." I hope it still counts!!

“What? No… no… Sherlock, no, Sit dow- You promised! Sit. Back. Down.” John reached out and just managed to grab hold of an inch of fabric from the back of Sherlock’s shirt. He pulled, and through some sort of miracle or random act of some unknown deity, caught Sherlock off balance and forced him back down onto the sofa where he fell with a soft “Plop” that was nearly drowned out by Sherlock’s wail of protest. “You… Promised.” 

“When I promised to watch a movie with you,” Sherlock complained, drawing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them while giving off a prize winning pout, but was unable to continue when John shouted, nearly making him jump.

“You picked the movie!” John threw his hands up in the air and let out a frustrated noise that was not quite a growl, nor was it quiet the noise one makes when trying to remove phlegm from the nasal passage. 

“Yes, well…” Sherlock sighed dejectedly and did his best to hide his embarrassment. “When I saw the title ‘Bee Movie’ I was expecting something a bit more educational. Not…” he tossed a hand in the direction of the screen where a cartoon bee was giving off what could only be described as a  _ very _ creepy smile. 

“Shall we change it then?” John was about to rattle off a few titles when Sherlock’s head nearly fell off and rolled across the floor thanks to how hard he was nodding yes. 

“Even one of those horrid Bond films.” 

“Must really hate this, if you’re willing to sit through a Bond movie. How bout this, you pick, and I’ll suffer through whatever it is…” John resigned himself to an hour and a half, or more, of pure torture; assuming Sherlock picked one of his much loved documentaries. He just hoped it wasn’t that one about pollen spores that Sherlock loved so much.

“Could…” Sherlock blushed and unraveled his arms and legs, scratching his head in a rare sign of shyness. “Could we watch the Doctor Who Christmas Special? I missed that one, thanks to Mummy forcing me to take part in family affairs.” 

“Wait… you liked Doctor Who? Missed it? I… But you hate Doctor Who!?” John swiveled around to stare at Sherlock who completely avoided his gaze.

“I… enjoy it, quite a bit. I just didn’t want you to make a big deal about it.” Sherlock shrugged and chewed on his bottom lip a bit, “I started watching over your shoulder when they introduced the weeping angels.”

“Christ… Alright, yeah. It’s not out on DVD yet, and I doubt it’s still on iplayer… that was a few months ago.”

“That’s alright. I’ve got it downloaded on my laptop.” Sherlock seemingly out of nowhere withdrew his laptop and stuck both his feet on the coffee table and placed the laptop on top of his down stretched out legs.

“Is it legal?” John asked, already knowing the answer.

“What’s Moffat going to do? Come to Baker Street and kill us?” Sherlock grinned and flicked open the lid, his fingers lightly tapping away on the keys as he waited for it to boot up. 

“Oi…” John shook his head but said nothing else, and watched as Sherlock’s fingers flew across the keys, entering in his password with lightening speed. As they waited for the episode to start, Sherlock stared at the empty space between them on the couch and cleared his throat a few times until John got the hint.

“Yes, alright…” John scooted closer, until their thighs and hips were touching, then leaned back against the sofa and rested his head on the side of Sherlock’s shoulder.

“Now, no talking, John. I’ve avoided spoilers thus far, and I don’t want it ruined by you when you point out the obvious!” 

“Oh, heaven forbid I ruin something for you.” John chuckled and was saved from Sherlock’s annoyed glare when the Doctor Who theme song started to play. Instead of laughing, or poking Sherlock for fun when Sherlock started humming along with the music, he joined in and found that he rather liked this new side of Sherlock. The side that knew what spoilers meant, and wanted to watch his favorite TV show with him.

“We should do this more often… date night, you me, Doctor Who… maybe a beer.”

“This weekend?” Sherlock asked hopefully.

“Yeah, I’ll pick up a six-pack.”

“I’ll order takeaway.” 

 

And just like that, it was settled, and John vowed to never watch another episode of Doctor Who without Sherlock.


	4. Day Four: On A Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had an entirely different idea for this chapter. But the boys took over. I actually wanted to write them drunk, but then I found THIS piece of art: http://kimseorim.tumblr.com/post/111392951369

“John?” Sherlock burst into the flat with such urgency, startling John who then proceed to spill his tea all over his lap. (And the paper he'd been trying to read.)

“Jesus, where’s the fire!” Thinking something was very wrong, John jumped out of his chair and made ready to dash upstairs to change out of his now soaking wet trousers. 

“We’ve been dating for three months now, and we haven't gone on a date!”

“Please tell me…” John pinched the bridge of his nose then did his best to salvage his paper, “that is not why you've just burst in here like someone's just gone and murdered the queen. 

“John! This is important! Why can't you see? We haven't gone on a date yet!” Sherlock stormed into the room and crowded John’s personal space, grabbing him by the shoulders and fixing him with a fiery gaze. “Go get cleaned up, you look like you’ve just urinated yourself, then we’ll go out.”

“Romantic, that…” John rolled his eyes and shook free of Sherlock’s grip. 

“Hmm yes. Perhaps I should have been a bit…” Sherlock bent down and retrieved John’s mug from the floor and placed it back on the table beside John’s chair. “John, would you please go on a date with me?”

“What kind of date?” John fixed Sherlock with one if his “I know you” glares and propped a hand on his hip. “I'll not have you drag me through some crime scene and call it a date.”

“Dinner then?” Sherlock only looked crestfallen for a split second, but didn't seem all that put off, instead he seemed eager. Like a puppy waiting for its master to throw the ball.

“Dinner, and a pint.”

“Lovely.” Sherlock clapped his hands together and pushed John in the direction of his bedroom. John went off to change and reappeared a few moments later looking a lot less wet. 

“Where to?” John grabbed his coat and stood by door with his hands folded behind his back and waited for Sherlock to look up from his phone. 

“Out.” Sherlock stuffed his phone back in his pocket, brushed past John, then dashed down the stairs, stopping at the door to hold it open for John. 

“Oh. Ta.” John raised his eyebrows in surprise at the kind gesture, so used to getting the door slammed in his face when Sherlock forgot that he was directly behind him. “Few rules, Sherlock.”  John stood at attention on the sidewalk, watching Sherlock warily as he nailed down a cab, and laid out how their date  _ wouldn't  _ go. 

“I'll not look up from my pint just to have you gone missing. If we’re on a date, we're together. Until I've said you’re free to run off.” With his hand still in the air waving at a passing taxi Sherlock gave John a panicked look, “Oi, calm down. Of course if it's important I'll let you go. I just don't want to finish a date on my own. Also, I'll not pay every time.”

“Is that it.” Sherlock lowered his arm and stepped aside as a taxi pulled up, then held the door open for John who slid in with a nod.

“That about covers it. It's not like we’re trying to get to know each other and I'm worried about awkward silences. I just don't want you bailing on me, or sticking me with the bill.”

“And if a case comes up, say a 8 or higher?”

“If it's an 8 or higher, I'll throw money at the waiter and dash off after you so fast they'll think we're about to have sex in the back alley.” 

This warranted a chuckle from Sherlock as he buckled himself in. “So, if I am understanding this correctly, and I'm certain am, I'm not allowed to essentially ditch you while on a date.” John nodded warily, wondering where this was going. “But if we are not on a date, it's okay?”

“Broadly speaking… no. But I expect it, you know? I mean, our first case together, you went off on your own and I got kidnapped by someone.”

“My brother.” Sherlock added in as if that were going to solve everything.

“Yes, but I didn't find that out until hours later!” 

“John, it’s not like you’ll get kidnapped every time I leave you.”

“Jesus, that’s not.. No, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m just saying I hate it when you run off. I like, hell, I love working cases with you. I feel… left out.”

“Is this what couples do? Talk about their feelings?” Sherlock sighed and leaned his head against the back of the seat.

“Yeah, well, they’re supposed too. Problem?” John asked then smiled when Sherlock placed a hand on his knee.

“No, no problem. Just gathering data.”

“Right… so where are we going?” John looked out the window and tried to figure out where they were but nothing looked familiar. 

“Little Italian place just off the beaten path in SoHo. The owner owes me a favor.”

“Did you get him off a murder charge too?” 

“Not quite. Found his daughter when she’d gone missing. Turns out she ran off, literally joining the circus.”

“Huh.” They both giggled then after a moment Sherlock arched an eyebrow and sat up straight.

“Ah, here we are. Lewis, the owner, opened specifically for us tonight. They’re not normally open Monday’s.”

True enough, as they walked in John saw they had the place to themselves. The lighting was soft, the chandelier dimly lit, golden yellow light making the beige walls seem to glow with warmth. 

“Jesus, this place is lovely.” John smiled kindly to the waiter, who ushered them to a small white table near the fall wall. It was placed between two glass doors, and though they couldn’t see the actual sunset, pink sunlight played at the edges of the white door frames and John couldn’t help feeling like he’d stepped into another country.

“It’s a set menu tonight, gents.” The waiter, who had followed them to the table with two wine glasses and a bottle of white wine, began to pour while describing the dish.

“It’s a penne pasta in our own homemade Alfredo sauce with mushrooms and chicken. Dessert will be a chocolate lava cake. Can I start you off with bread sticks?” 

“Mmm.” Sherlock nodded then leaned over the table, both hands outstretched and John grinned like a fool in love as he held Sherlock’s hand. He let go with one hand, and held up his wine glass for a toast. 

“It’s not a pint, but lovely just the same.”

Sherlock held up his own glass and clinked it against John’s. Before taking a sip he said, “I think, by the end of tonight, I’ll be quite fond of dates.”


	5. Day Five: Kissing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a little bit behind, but I'm having some health issues and writing just... isn't in me right now. 
> 
> I also don't know why Sherlock is being so shy and doesn't want sex... He's not telling me yet!

“Well…” John, tired and travel worn, sighed and tossed their bags down against the wall, “This is… cramped.”

Sherlock surveyed the room, which was hardly bigger than the single bed and grimaced. “Would you… I could, another room that is?” Sherlock stammered, despite having been officially in a relationship he and John had yet to spend a night together. Not that neither of them wanted it, just Sherlock hadn’t felt ready. 

“Do you want to share?” John asked gently, placing a hand on the small of Sherlock’s back in a gesture he hoped was both comforting  _ and _ encouraging. 

“Y… yes.” Sherlock bowed his head and offered John a shy smile.

“You sure?” John felt his beating faster and did his best not to seem overly eager. 

“Mmm quite.” Sherlock turned his body to face John and let out a huff when John threw his arms around his waist and held him in a tight bear hug. “John it’s not like I’ve agreed to sleep with you.” 

“No, but… well, yes you have. Just not…” John giggled and pulled away. 

“No sex.” Sherlock clarified, turning bright red.

“I know, luv.” John pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s nose and took a step back. “It’s quite late… are you hungry or do you just want to…”

“The food on the train was sufficient. Bed, I think.” Sherlock said after a moment, then kicked his shoes off.

“I should warn you… I sleep…” 

“In your pants.”  

“Do I want to know how you know that?” John sighed as he began shedding his layers of clothes, tossing his coat and jumper over a nearby chair.

“When I wake you up for a case, you always hold the blankets to your neck. Then when I leave it takes you three and a half minutes to change. No, I’ve not been spying on you.” 

“Somehow I find that hard to believe.” John laughed as he undid his buckle and shimmied out of his pants. Sherlock’s eyes dragged over John’s body, taking a few minutes to catalog John’s scar, the wispy blond hair trailing from his chest to his navel, and the unmistakable outline of his cock through his pants. “Yeah, that’s my cock.” 

“I… sorry…” Sherlock blushed and timidly began to undo the buttons on his dress shirt. 

“Mmm don’t be sorry. You’re allowed.” after kicking off his socks he regarded the bed, “Which side do you prefer?” 

“Uhhh, left.” 

“Right.” John pulled back the blankets and collapsed face down onto the bed with a sigh, mumbling into the pillow, “Jesus I’m tired…”  

“Too tired for a bit of kissing?” Sherlock, wearing a pair of soft cotton pajama pants and nothing more, crawled into the bed next to John, propping himself up on his elbow. 

“Mmm no. Not _that_ tired.” John rolled over onto his side and placed a hand on Sherlock’s jaw.  

“Goo-” Sherlock was cut off when John pressed his lips against his. He let out a moan and reached out, grabbing a handful of John’s sandy blond hair. 

“Jesus, I’ve wanted to kiss you like this for a while.” John brushed his thumb over Sherlock’s jaw and pressed his lips against Sherlock’s. Sherlock’s lips were plump and parted, John could feel a hint of Sherlock’s tongue as Sherlock slowly let himself go. 

“Relax, luv… Just… relax.” John kissed at Sherlock’s nose, the corners of his mouth, then went back to his lips. 

He started gentle, soft kisses, pressing their lips together. Sherlock quickly warmed to the sensation, letting out little gasps or moans whenever John would suck his bottom lip into his mouth. John wiggled closer, so their bodies were touching. Sherlock threw a leg over his and pulled him even closer, opening his mouth and letting John’s tongue dart inside with a loud moan. John growled back, exploring Sherlock’s mouth with his tongue, feeling the slide of Sherlock’s tongue as the detective began to move it. Slowly at first, then faster with more confidence. It wasn’t long until John felt a tell-tail hardness pressing against his stomach. Sherlock noticed it as well, and pulled back for air, his face red with the most gorgeous blush John had ever seen. 

“Jesus, you’re sexy…” John whispered, kissing Sherlock’s chiseled jaw. 

“As are you, John…” Sherlock let out a deep sigh, then rolled into his back. “We should… busy day tomorrow.”

“Mmmm meeting our client at, what, 6am?” 

“Mmm.” Sherlock made a noise and pulled the blankets up to his shoulder’s then rolled back over and looked at John. 

“You should move into my room, when we get back. I can already tell I’ll find sleeping easier with you here.”

“Yeah?” John’s eyes lit up, and he couldn’t help but push himself up a little to give his detective one more, incredibly wet and noisy kiss.

“That was… weird.” Sherlock rubbed a finger over his lips and looked puzzled.

“Yeah, but you loved it.” John chuckled as he settled back down on the bed.

“Perhaps.” 


	6. Day Six: Wearing Each Other's Clothes.

John couldn’t stop laughing. Sherlock looked like a drowned rabbit that got into a fight with a duck. He was covered head to toe in brown feathers, and was soaking wet. He kept replaying the past five minutes in his head, biting his lip to keep from belting out his laughter.

Sherlock, in a mad dash to catch the jewelry thief (the maid who had apparently had enough of her employers pettiness), had run off in the direction of a small pond on the back of the estate. The maid, weighing quite a bit less than Sherlock, ran out on the thinning ice, her stolen possessions clutched to her chest, brandishing a feather duster as a weapon. Not willing to let her, or the jewels get away, Sherlock stepped out onto the ice and slowly made his way towards her.

As you, and anyone else, could imagine. The feeble early spring ice couldn’t hold them both. Sherlock saw his mistake a moment too late, but managed, by grabbing onto the feather duster and pulling, throw the maid back towards shore. (Where John was waiting with his gun.) She escaped getting wet, mostly. Sherlock, not so much. And John was now laughing at his shivering companion.

“You’re going ‘squish-glomp’ with each step. Do you hear that?” John giggled, catching up with Sherlock as he made his way back towards the house, John’s gun trained carefully on the maid where she walked a few steps ahead of them.

“Yes John, my ears do work.”

“They didn’t when I told you not to go out there.”

Sherlock ignored this remark but continued walking, pushing them on faster presumably so he could get out of the cold.

Regrettably, Lady Bellows had nothing more than a pair of sweatpants to lend Sherlock. So he was left drenched at the fee and waist up. Knowing they still had to wait for the police to show up, John took pity on his partner and tore off his jumper and tossed it at him. “Maybe now you won't make fun of my jumpers.”

Sherlock took the jumper, excused himself for a moment, returning with a grimace on his face, but looking much warmer in something that wasn’t dripping pond water.

While Lady Bellows had words with her maid, another maid ushered the cold men into a sort of sitting room, and bid them wait while she fetched them a cuppa. John collapsed into a over stuffed armchair, but Sherlock didn't sit. Instead he stood with his arms folded over his chest and fixed a confused sort of scowl on his face.

“Oi, come sit…” John yawned and pointed to another chair. Sherlock simply stood there at attention with his lips pursed and his brows furrowed. “What in heaven’s name are you doing?”

“I’m you.” Sherlock shrugged as he mimicked the way John walked, and surveyed the room.

“You’re me? Wh.. what the hell, Sherlock? No, that’s not how I walk.” To cold and exhausted to get up, John simply glared at Sherlock from where he sat.

“Spot on, I thought.” Sherlock smirked as he slid inside the cab, then scowled out the window.

“Knock it off.” John hissed just as the maid returned with a tray of nibbles and two steaming cups of tea. “It’s not funny.”

“It is a bit.” Sherlock turned to the maid and, mimicking John nearly perfectly said, “Ta.” and all looked like he was about to flirt with the poor woman when John stood up and tok the tray.

“Right. That's enough, Sherlock. Sit down.”

The maid half shrugged, clearly unsure what was going on between the two men's and slipped out of the room.

“Why are you mimicking me?”

“Because, I thought.” Sherlock tossed a biscuit into his mouth and continued to talk while he chewed. “If I I could get in your mindset, perhaps I could figure out why you like jumpers so much.”

“Oi… Did it work?” John scrubbed a hand over his face and let out a pent up sigh.

“Nope.” Sherlock tossed another biscuit into his mouth and grinned, letting a bit of crumbs fall out and get caught on John’s jumper. 


	7. Day Seven: Cosplaying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm finally caught up! So last chapter for today.
> 
> Also, this gets a bit NSFW

“How is that a costume? You've just gone and added a cravat and a mustache.” John watched as Sherlock, wearing an older style suit, complete with tails and white gloves, walked to the bookshelves by the window and selected an old worn out book in green binding. He turned it around so John could read the cover, and did his best not to smile.

“Edgar Allan Poe… where’s the raven then?” He was only joking, so when Sherlock dug through a box and pulled out a stuffed raven he couldn't help but raise his eyes in surprise.  

“Would you do the honour of pinning my raven to my shoulder?” Sherlock held out the raven, and a few pins, and stood perfectly still while John fixed the stuffed bird to his suit. When John was done he stepped back and only then notice that John wasn't wearing a costume. “Aren't you going to get dressed?” 

“Yeah. My costume is upstairs…” John looked a bit… embarrassed, no, nervous, as he headed off to his old room. Ever since Greg invited them to the Fancy Dress party at NSY to raise funds for the MET John had kept his costume a secret. No matter how many guesses Sherlock made, John wouldn't tell him if he were right or wrong, he'd only say “shut up” or “go away”. It was like guessing his middle name all over again.  

When he finally heard John coming down the stairs, the first thing he noticed was John's footsteps were much louder than normal. He fought the urge to run into the hall and look up, and instead kept his feet firmly planted on the floor in the middle of the room. He held his breath, hardly hoping that he’d be right.

John pushed open the door to their parlor, a blur of tan camo caught Sherlock’s eyes and he let out a gasp as Captain Watson walked into the room. John was in his old army gear. Boots, trousers, belt shirt, he even had a beret in his head and silver dog tags around his neck. The sight made Sherlock's knees go weak.

“Ready?” John asked, completely oblivious to the effect he had on his partner. “Do you have our tickets?” 

“Errr…” Sherlock tore his eyes from John and lowered the book he was holding, turning bright red and feeling his mouth go dry.  

“Jesus… are you alright?” John took a step forward, then his eyes fell to the book and he let out a soft gasp. “Oh… you have an…” 

“Erection it would seem.” Sherlock tilted his head up towards the ceiling and stained at a stain he'd made years ago during an experiment with acid and a bouncy ball, and let out a uncomfortable huff.  

“Have you… ever. I mean you must have. Right?”

“I've had erections before, yes, but nothing… unwanted. Not since puberty. I have perfect control over my body. Except when it comes to you, it would seem.” 

“I could…” John took another step forward and made to reach for the book but stopped halfway, unsure if his advances were welcomed.

“For god's sake. Yes. I don't know if I can bear seeing you like… that… all evening without some sort of release first.” Sherlock sounded like he was almost in tears. In fact. When John finally coaxed him to tilt his head down for a kiss he nearly was in tears.  

“Well, if you don't mind, Mr. Poe. I'll just have you sit here in my boyfriends chair. And I'll have a look, yeah? After all, I'm an army doctor.” John smirked, kissed Sherlock on the nose, then carefully backed him into his chair. But not before pausing to undo his trousers, pushing them and his pants down, letting them pool around his ankles.

Sherlock momentarily cringed when the cool leather of his chair met bare skin, but the second John’s lips were on his cock any discomfort was forgotten. All he could feel was John… his calloused hands sliding over his thighs, the wet warmth of his mouth where it was locked over his cock, the feeling of john’s breath against his abdomen. It was all too much and he nearly came right then and there. Somehow John sensed this, and he pulled back, letting his mouth slide off of Sherlock’s cock with a loud “pop”. He sat back a little, still sliding his hands over Sherlock’s legs and looked up. 

“Are you okay?” He bent down and kissed the inside of Sherlock’s thigh, the bridge of his nose brushing against Sherlock’s balls. Sherlock let out a shuddered sigh and nodded. 

“Very much so. It’s just… new.”

“You’ve never…” John gasped and Sherlock shook his head. 

“No, not with anyone. Please… continue.” the corners of his mouth twitched into a smile as he leaned back in his chair in what he hopped was an encouraging gesture.  

“Well,” John laughed and bowed his head again, “if you insist.” John’s tongue touched his cock first, it slid over the head and down the underside of his shaft. Then his lips were there, firm pressure all around his length. Then John started to suck  _ and _ bob his head up and down. Sherlock knew he’d be done for embarrassingly quickly, but he couldn’t be arsed to care. Currently the barrage of emotions and sensations he was feeling were far too wonderful to let something like that bother him. All he knew was John. His brain had turned off, there were no haunting thoughts, no loose ends that were screaming to be tied, it was all blissfully quiet aside from John. John filled every region of his mind, ever sense, every breath he took. It was John.

He reached out blindly, not even sure he could see, and found John’s head. He dragged his fingers through John’s hair, down his neck, toyed with the chain to John’s dog tags… and came. He came with a shout, gripping at John’s neck as if he were afraid John would slip away to nothing. His vision _did_ go black, and his ears rang. Then all was silent. Slowly it came back to him, a low, soft chuckle first. John’s laugh. It was such a lovely sound and it made him smile. Then he could feel John’s hands, still on his thighs, then his lips kissing the exposed skin of his abdomen. Then he _saw_ John. Smiling up at him like he’d never seen John smile before.  

“Alright, luv?” 

“Mmm…” Sherlock tried to speak but it came out as a grunt, making John laugh even harder.

“Too much?” 

“No… not enough.” Sherlock, as if he were drunk, pushed himself into a sitting position, and looked down at his now soft cock. There was no mess, no semen threatening to stain his suit. He looked at John and grinned. “You...  you’ve done this before?” 

“Once or twice. Had a boyfriend back in Helmand. He was my CO, so… very hush hush…”  

“You sneaky bastard.”

With a grunt and a smirk, John got to his feet and brushed his uniform off.

“Mmm going to get you a drink, then brush my teeth.”

“What for?”

“So I don’t have dick breath at the party.”

 


	8. Day Eight: Shopping

“You’re the one who wanted to come!” John hissed from between clenched teeth while trying to maintain the passive smile he usually wore while shopping. “So shut up, and push the damn trolley like a normal adult!”  

Sherlock, who was currently hunched (if you can picture putty molding itself to an uneven surface, this is more like it) over the shopping trolley, arms splayed out in the basket, head hanging limp between his shoulders with his forehead resting on the handle. In all, he looked like your typical five year old who’d just been told he’d been a bad boy and wouldn’t be getting any candy today. 

“Bored….” Sherlock wailed, drawing the attention of more than a few fellow patrons.

“Then why,” John pinched the middle of his forehead and inhaled loudly in an effort to not shout, “did you insist on coming? You hate shopping.” He enunciated each and every word with slow and careful precision, hopefully getting across just how  _ very _ annoyed he was.

“Bored,” Sherlock said again, adding in a shrug and shuffling down the aisle.

“You were bored, so you came shopping with me. Just to be what, equally bored? To make a scene in public?” sibilated John who was now at his wits end. 

“I thought perhaps something interesting would happen. A theft maybe. Instead, the shop is filled with dull middle aged women who are trying, and failing might I add, to hide their affairs. Like this lady…” Sherlock blatantly stared at a passing woman and simply chuckled when she flipped him of. “Mm Doesn’t bother me, that. John does it so much I hardly notice it now,” he said to no one in particular. 

“For Christ’s sake! Behave, Sherlock! And while you’re at it, grab me two jars of raspberry jam, you’re blocking the aisle. Seedless.” 

Sherlock lazily reached a hand out and did, mostly, what he was asked, also adding in a jar of strawberry without John noticing.  

“Right…” John crossed a few items off his list then moved into the next aisle. Sherlock took one glance at the contents and sighed dramatically while John sat there and decided. 

“Why are there so many kinds of bread?” he ran a finger over three different kinds of bread all claiming to be special in their own way and groaned. “Dreadful.” 

“You’re the genius, if anyone knew it would be you.”  

“Dull…” 

“And tobacco ash isn’t?”  

“No! Tobacco ash is fascinating, John! So many different components… did you…”

“Yeah, no offence but I don’t care.” John cut him off and tossed two loaves of bread into the trolley and moved on down to the biscuits. “Seeing you’re here… what kind?” 

“Chocolate.” Sherlock said, and actually stood up like a normal human being to reach the top shelf to grab his favorite Tim Tams.  

“You’re a junk food addict, that’s what you are.” 

“But it gets me to eat.” Sherlock smiled grabbing four packages of the biscuits.  

“Mmm, that’s the only reason I tolerate it. But you’re having a real meal, a full meal, for each and every single one of those packs. You hear me?”  

“Mmm…” Sherlock made a rather noncommittal noise and threw in a fifth pack for good measure. God forbid Mycroft came over and he had to share.  

“Right… now on to meats…”  

Just then Sherlock’s phone went off. The detective spun around in a circle as he attempted to fish it out of his back pocket and looked at the caller ID with glee. “Lestrade!” 

“Go… Please, for fucks sake! GO. I’ll catch up after.” John sighed with relief, watching Sherlock as he dashed towards the shop exit before even bothering to answer his phone.

Taking control of the trolley, John smiled to himself, shook his head, and wondered if he should put back the Tim Tam’s when  _ his _ phone went off. It was a simple text from Sherlock that simply read  **“Five.”** laughing, John left the biscuits in the basket and kept walking. 


	9. Day Nine: Hanging With Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hanging out with friends, Sherlock style. Ish...

“He actually… You came!” Lestrade looked up from the bar and chuckled good naturedly at Sherlock, then clapped John on the shoulder as the Doctor sat down beside him.

“John threatened to throw out the month old experiment I have in the salad drawer if I didn’t come.” Sherlock dragged the bar stool out from under the counter, letting it loudly scrape across the floor then sat down with a huff. 

“Yeah well,” John raised a hand to get the bartender’s attention. “Last time we came out he said, and I quote, ‘I’ll go next time, John. I promise.’ So, I’m making him keep his promise. Greg, the usual?”

“Ahh yeah, small. I’m on call tonight.” 

“Jesus, we could have picked another night!” John looked apologetically at his friend, ignoring how Sherlock was swinging his legs like a child, his feet kicking the underside of the bar in a loud series of thumps. 

“Nah, got the kids over the next week. Ex is out of town, so I’ve got full time Dad Duty.” 

“That’ll be nice though. Ah, ta.” John nodded to the bartender, slid a pint down the bar to Sherlock. “Drink this and behave.” 

“Why?” Sherlock eyed the dark ale as if it were going to bite him. 

“Because, you’ll enjoy it. And at least then your behaviour can be excused.” John shook his head and turned back to Greg. “Got anything fun planned for the kids?” 

“Mmm not much. Hard this time of year, you know? Too cold to do anything outside really. Was thinking of taking them to that indoor bounce house, just opened a few weeks ago.”

“Oh yeah, that place where the floors are mostly trampolines?” 

“Yeah, that’s the one. Could be fun. They’ve still got school so we can’t actually go anywhere.”

“Oh my god. This is so much fun.” Sherlock said sarcastically and groaned into his beer. “And this tastes like piss. What is it.” 

“Its Guinness, and it does not taste like piss.”  

“You know what would be fun?” Sherlock's eyes gained a far off distant look and John simply sighed. 

“A case?” sighed John, who was starting to regret making Sherlock tag along. 

As if on cue, Lestrade’s mobile went off and he gave a defeated little sigh. “That’ll be work, of course it’ll be work. Just my luck. Out with a mate and the one and only Sherlock Holmes, trying my best to relax, when a bloody murder happens!”  

At the word murder, Sherlock’s ears perked up and he sat up straight. 

Twenty-seven minutes later found the three men, having abandoned their drinks, standing in front of a dead body. 

“Anything you've got, Sherlock. Anything at all.” Lestrade ran a hand through his hair. He was at wits end. If one more similar murder, like this one, happened it would be a PR nightmare. Press Conferences were one of his least favourite things. Ever.  

“Well…” Sherlock, now thoroughly enjoying his  _ Night Out With Friends _ crouched down and leaned in close to the mangled body. “the killer is clearly left handed. You can tell by the angel of these lacerations.” he pointed two fingers to the series of five cuts on the victim’s back. “Out victim was either unconscious, dying or dead when these were made as they are perfectly even. No conscious man would lay still for that. The depth of these cuts, as well as most of the other marks on his body,  indicate excess rage in our killer. He knew this man, he knew exactly what he was doing.”

“Great we’re looking for an angry lefty.” Greg groaned, then looked up from his notes, “He? How do you know it's a he? And how do you know they knew each other?” 

“Yes, he.” Sherlock pointed to a spot mostly hidden in shadow a feet off to his left. “Bloody footprints, two of them. So either some nice gent was out having an evening stroll and just happened to _not_ notice he'd stepped in blood while passing by a dead body, or our killer left them behind.” Sherlock flashed Lestrade an annoyed look then rolled his eyes when John hissed a warning to be nice.  

“And, we can tell they knew each other by the simple fact that this man doesn't have any defensive wounds. Even John would fight back if some man came at him with a knife.”

“Thanks… I think.” John grumbled and crouched next to Sherlock. “Alright to turn him over, Greg?” 

“Yeah, we've taken enough pictures.” Lestrade tossed John and Sherlock a pair of gloves each and motioned for the photographer to be ready.  

“Right… on three.” John, grabbing hold of the man's hips, nodded to Sherlock. Sherlock nodded back and on three he gave the man’s shoulders a shove. With a sickening squelch the man was rolled over onto his back. Sherlock let out a low whistle and somewhere behind him an officer wretched.  

“Well… that's.” John began, but had to cover his mouth with his elbow when he started gagging, “his.” 

“Penis in his mouth.” Sherlock finished sounding more than a little excited. “And cause of death would be be this stab wound to the chest.” 

“Uh, Sherlock?” John cleared his throat and pointed down to the man's crotch. It's not his.” 

“Then…” Sherlock looked up to Lestrade for answers.  

“Our last body was… well missing his…” Lestrade stammered.  

“Penis! It's a perfectly normal word to use, if you two would stop acting like ladies.”  

“Could it be his then?” John interrupted. 

“If you test the DNA, I'm certain it will be. Lover's triangle gone wrong, if I'm not mistaken.” Sherlock stood and tore off his gloves, tossing them to a nearby officer.  

“Thank you, John, for making me come out tonight. Back to the pub? I'm rather enjoying myself.”


	10. Day Ten: With Animal Ears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to write Sherlock being stuck with a pair of those silly rabbit ear headbands... but this happened in my dreams last night. So... here you go.

_John walked through the forest, alone. Mostly. For the past five minutes he’d had a feeling that he wasn’t quite alone. Somewhere behind him, a twig snapped and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He spun, bow ready, and nearly let his arrow loose when he saw it._  

 _It was a fawn. Well… sort of. It was half fawn, half human. The faun was male, dark curly fur from the waist down, dark curly hair on his head, and his eyes… Oh his eyes were blue like thousands of diamonds reflecting the sea. He was young, which explained his curiosity, and why he’d allowed himself to be spotted by a human._  

 _John lowered his bow and unnotched his arrow. He lowered the weapon, placing it carefully on the ground, and held out a hand. It was said, if you could gain the trust of a faun, that they would grant you one wish. Stories had been told of men or women who claimed to have had their wishes granted, but fauns were hard to find, and even harder to gain their trust once you did find one. The faun took half a step forward then froze. He eyed the bow and snorted._  

 _“Hello.” John said, as gently as he possibly could, though his voice was a bit rough from disuse. He’d been wandering these woods for three days, not quite lost, but unsure where his quest was taking him. “I won't hurt you. In fact, if you’re hungry…” he reached into the satchel at his hip and withdrew a green apple and held it out. “I’ve been holding onto it, but I think you should have it.”  He inwardly kicked himself for sounding so foolish, but smiled when the faun took a few more hesitant steps forward._  

_ “Here, I’m going to toss my bow to the side and sit down. Don’t be frightened, yeah?” The faun blinked, then gave a small nod. John bent down, and with the hand that was not holding the apple, picked up and tossed his bow aside. Not far, but just out of reach. There was a fallen log just to his left, so he opted to sit there.  _

_He sat for a full ten minutes, waiting for the faun to either bolt or come up to him and snatch the apple away seconds before runnig off. Either way, it would be a story to tell at the next inn. Might even get him a free pint. He whiled away the time by staring at the trees, the patches of clouds he could see just through the canopy, he even kicked his boots off and dug his toes into the soft grass. It was then, when John was the most relaxed, feeling the soft lull of the forest wash over him, that the faun trotted up to him._  

 _It… he… stopped a few inches away and held out a hand, palm up. The skin on his arm (As well as the rest of his torso) was similar to a human's, but a bit thicker, with coarser fur like hair. John knew it would grow in thick during the winter months, keeping the creature warm._  

 _“Oh, did you want the apple?” John stopped staring and held out the apple, gently placing it in the creature’s palm, half expecting him to dash off the moment it was in his possession. Instead, he took a timid bite, made a rather pleased sounding hum, then sat on the log beside John, swinging his hooved feet as he nibbled daintily on the apple._  

 _“I’m called John,” John said, placing his hands out behind him on the log so he could look up at the birds flitting about the trees._  

 _“Sherlock.” The faun said, and it was the most beautiful voice John had ever heard. Deep, baritone notes that wrapped around John like soft moss. He shook his head a little, as if he found his own voice weird, and twitched his deer like ears. His hair shifted from the momentum and John caught a glimpse of his horns. Barely two stumps just beside his ears. He was in fact, quite young then. John had a sudden urge to stay and protect this creature._  

_ “Hello.” John grinned, and took an apple out for himself. They sat their, side by side, eating their apples and exchanging shy smiles. When Sherlock had finished his, he waited for John to finish as well, then collected both apple cores and trotted to the center of the clearing. Using his hands, and a few sticks for help, he dug two holes and planted an apple core in each. When he was done he trotted back to John. _

_Standing in front of him, he asked, “What wish may I grant for you?”_  

 _John thought for a moment, he looked up at the trees, at the birds, at the sky, at the gorgeous faun in front of him. It was peaceful. He wanted this. He wanted to stay, to watch those apple cores turn into apple trees. To tend and care for the trees for the rest of his life._  

 _“I want to stay.”_  

_ “Stay?” Sherlock asked, a hint of a smile on his faun like face. _

_“With you, to protect you, and our trees.”_  

 _“In your current form?”_  

 _“You mean… you could…” John looked Sherlock up and down and felt his heart beat with excitement. “I could be like you? A faun?”_  

 _“Oh, yes. But I must warn you. We live long lives, and once changed we cannot turn you back.”_  

_ “Understood.” John stood then, standing inches away from the faun, and looked him straight in the eye. “Please, make me like you, I want to be a faun.” _

“JOHN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” Sherlock’s bedroom door burst open and John tore himself from the pillows both out of shock and annoyance. “Wake up! We’ve got a case!” 


	11. Day Eleven: Wearing Kiguruimis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is short. I'm sorry. I really had no idea what to do with this one.

"I am not putting that on." John crossed his arms and stared at the costume Sherlock was holding out to him. He shook his head. He shook his head so hard he felt that it might fall off. And that was okay with mm. His head falling off would be preferable to wearing.... "what even is that?"

"It's a kigurumi." Sherlock stated as if it were the most op oops thing in the world. "The name is a combination of two Japanese words. Kiru, to wear, and nuigurumi, stuffed toy."

"I know what a kigurumi is, Sherlock. I'm asking," John pinched the bridge of his nose, "what it is."

"Haven't the foggiest. Put it on." Sherlock tossed the yellow thing to John, who caught it and looked at the label.

"Pikachu, what is a pikachu?" Within it waiting for Sherlock to answer John pulled out his mobile and brought up google. "Huh. It's from some kids show. A cartoon... looks rather popular.

"I'm..." Sherlock looked at the label on his orange costume. "A charizard."

"Well, we look like twats." John proclaimed as he zipped up his costume and dared a look in the mirror. "You'd better be right about this." He and Sherlock were posing as employees in a costume shop. The shop owner had reached out to Sherlock a few days ago after the fifth day in a row of him opening shop to discover money missing. Sherlock had been bored enough at the time to take it, despite it being a 3.

"Of course I'm right. It's the owner's grandson. We just need proof, and what better proof than catching him in the act?"

"So what? We'll just work here until he slips up? Doesn't this happen at night?" John sighed and stuck the "Hello my name is John how may I help you?" badge to the front of his costume.

"Oh, have faith, John. Craig won't be able to resist. Not after what I've got planned."

"What do you have planned?" John suddenly felt panic creep through his body, it was only made worse by the way Sherlock grinned.

"You'll see."

Fifteen minutes into their shift, the front bell rang, indicating a customer. John looked up and prayed to god that it wasn't someone he knew. It was. It was Mycroft. The bastard walked in, umbrella swinging and tailored suit looking as crisp as ever, and walked straight up to John. He made a point of looking at John's name tag. Cleared his throat and said,

"Good morning, John. I'm throwing a party you see, and I like to keep a few costumes on reserve in case my guests don't have any. Would you be willing to show me around? Mycroft looked more pleased than John could ever recall seeing him. Even more pleased than the first time he had kidnapped John.

John gritted his teeth. He wanted to punch Sherlock. He wanted to deck Mycroft. But instead he forced a smile on his face and nodded.

Mycroft made John show him every costume in the store. Worse yet, he made John model about half of them. Craig, who was sitting at the register, looked on greedily as Sherlock ran costume after costume up to him to hold for their customer. In the end, after the worst fourth-five minutes of John's life, Mycroft declared he was satisfied. He thanked both John and Sherlock, and went to pay. He payed in cash, which made Craig's eyebrows shoot up in glee. Mycroft left with his purchase, and John and Sherlock pretended to busy themselves with putting away the items Mycroft had refused.

John was busy hanging up a maid outfit, that thankfully he had not had to try on when it happened. He heard a bang, a scuffle, and Sherlock shouting his name. He rushed forward as quickly as his kigurumi would allow, feeling his tail slapping against his legs in a most humiliating way, and dashed to the front of the shop. There he found Sherlock, still dressed like a weird dragon creature, sitting on top of Craig who had money spilling out of his out turned pockets. He was currently explaining how Mycroft had used marked money, and would only be a matter of minutes until the police could prove that the money in his pocket was really the shop's money.

In the end, Craig confessed. As they were changing out of their costumes a thought suddenly came to John.

"If you were able to catch him with marked money... why did we have to dress up?"

"Bored..." Sherlock shrugged and stepped out of his costume. 


	12. Day Twelve: Making out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oddly enough I had a hard time writing this one.

“Bored?” John slammed the locker door shut and pocketed his mobile, turning on Sherlock with a snarl. “You mean to tell me, that I got dressed up, and humiliated by your brother… Because you were bored?”

“Well…” Sherlock took a step back from his angry partner and tried to figure out how he could come out on top of this conversation. “You were quite sexy dressed like that…”

“Let me guess, yeah? That’s supposed to make me feel better?” John closed the gap between them and pointed a finger in Sherlock’s face.

Sherlock closed his eyes and thought. If he opened his mouth, even to tell John that he was serious, that he had found John rather attractive, John would get angry. He could see it now. He ran a few different scenarios over in his head.

“I had hopped…”

But John would cut him off, saying something like: “Hoped? Jesus, Sherlock, I’ve just been used for your brother’s entertainment, and you hoped? Hoped what? For a quickie in the changing rooms?”

Actually, that didn’t sound too bad. Perhaps not sex… but if Sherlock could get John’s mind off of how angry he currently was, they’d both be that much happier for it. So, without uttering a single word, Sherlock dropped his costume on the bench beside him and took John’s face in both his hands.

“Wha…” John uttered at Sherlock’s sudden movements, but let out a dirty groan when Sherlock pressed their lips together. “Are… are you…”

“Shh, be quiet and let me distract you, John.” Sherlock whispered and brushed his fingertips along John’s jaw.

“Mmmfff” John hummed and let Sherlock tilt his chin up towards his. There was a moment there, when Sherlock half expected John to pull away, to glare at him, then stomp out of the changing room. But instead he melted under Sherlock’s touch, he let Sherlock maneuver his neck, tilting it back so he was facing the ceiling.

John couldn't quite explain it. One moment he was pissed at Sherlock, dangerously close to decking him; then the next his socks were practically being knocked off by Sherlock’s “take charge” attitude. He’d seen Sherlock take charge before, plenty of times of course. But that was usually at a crime scene, or when John was trying to get him to do the wash. This was the first time Sherlock had ever taken charge romantically, at least in a physical manner. It made John go weak in the knees.

“Jesus.” He hummed and in a rush of emotion, that came complete with butterflies in his stomach, grabbed Sherlock's head so they could have a proper snog. Desire welled up in John’s chest, the need to be closer to Sherlock was so strong that, using his body, he pressed Sherlock against the locker behind them. Sherlock grunted and shook his head slightly, resulting in his lips sliding across John's moments before he grabbed john’s shoulders and in a flash reversed their position.

The cold metal locker door was a shock to John, and he was in the process of chiding himself when Sherlock attacked him (with his lips) again. Their eyes adjusted and John caught a sort of hunger in Sherlock’s gaze, and if he hadn't completely melted before, he was thoroughly done for now.

“Fucking… Christ….” he managed to gasp out as Sherlock forcefully removed John’s hands from his hair and pinned them against the locker a few inches above John's head. Sherlock’s tongue was just begging entrance when the door burst open to the locker room.

“Sherlock, we need your state….. oh… erm….” A red faced Lestrade glanced quickly around the room, looking anywhere but at the two men necking it. Sherlock didn't pull away, instead, with his hips still pinned against john’s (for which John was partially thankful, as it hid his erection) he turned his head to face the DI, and very slowly said,

“In our own time.”

“Yeah, erm, take a few?” With that Lestrade scurried out of the room.

Sherlock turned back around and rested his forehead on John’s and together they burst into a fit of giggles.


	13. Day Thirteen: Eating Ice Cream

Fact: Sherlock Holmes was the world's only consulting detective.   
Fact: Sherlock Holmes was the world's biggest baby when he got sick.

"But Jooooohhhnnnn...." Sherlock rasped out, his throat sore and swollen, making him sound like a screeching velociraptor.

"No. Dairy is bad, it'll cause phlegm." John grumbled out, and not for the first time that evening. "And phlegm will make you cough more, which in turn will aggravate your throat. Which will make the chances of me murdering you that much higher."

"But I want ice cream!"

"Should have thought of that before you went and jumped in the Thames. You know you get sick every time to do that!"

John was right. In the last year Sherlock had jumped in the Thames on four separate occasions, and gotten sick all four times.

"Yes, well.... I know it would be so bloody hot!" Sherlock picked himself up off the couch, walked past John (who was sitting in his armchair doing his best to ignore Sherlock while HE ate a bowl of ice cream) and stalked right into the kitchen, throwing the freezer door open in what he hoped was a rebellious fashion.

While making as much ruckus as physically possible, he pulled the ice cream out of the freezer, loudly placed it down on the table, then rattled all the bowls together for a full minute before selecting one and placing that on the table as well. John didn't look up. He just arched his eyebrows at his paper and sighed.

"How professional of you, John," Sherlock called out, "make the sick person feed himself."

"You've got a cold, Sherlock. You're not dying."

"How do you know. I could have contracted a deadly disease."

"I'm a doctor. I know."

“But without the proper tests, it could go undiagnosed!”

“Sherlock,” John finally stood, giving into Sherlock's will, and grabbed the ice cream scoop from his hands, “I think I prefer you groaning on the sofa like a dying dinosaur over this. Go.”

“You have terrible bedside manners.”

“No, I have exemplary bedside manners, when I'm not dealing with a man child. You'd be better off with an ice lolly. That will feel better on your throat than this will.” John put the bowl away, then swapped the ice cream for an ice lolly, and brought it over to Sherlock who scowled at it before accepting it.

“You're intolerable, but I love you.” John leaned down and kissed Sherlock on the forehead, then with a smirk went back to eating his ice cream.

"Your the intolerable one. Eating ice cream in front of me like some kind of ice cream slut." Sherlock pealed back the wrapper on the ice lolly and began licking it in a very suggestive manner.

"Ice cream slut?" John laughed, actually laughed, and Sherlock frowned at him.

"I'm sorry. But all I can picture is some girl, dressed as a slutty ice cream cone..." John doubled over in his chair with laughter at the mental image. "I think we've found your neck costume, Sherlock. Forget Poe, you can be my slutty ice cream."

"I think I hate you, John." Sherlock grumbled and silently vowed to spend the whole night tuning his violin, as loudly as he could to get revenge.


	14. Day Fourteen: Genderswaped

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh so I was halfway done with this chapter, when I realized that this would have fit BETTER for day 15: In a different clothing style SO it'll be a two parter! Day Fifteen will just carry on with them running about in their dresses!

It was surprisingly easy to get John in a dress. Admittedly they  _ had  _ done stranger things for the sake of a case; but even so, Sherlock had expected a fight. Or at least a fair amount of unpleasant muttering. Instead John simply nodded and had taken the box of supplies into the bathroom to change. Sherlock stayed in the kitchen, dumbfounded. After about 45 seconds John opened the door and peeked his head out.    
  
"Do I need to tuck?"   
  
"Uhhh...." Sherlock stared blankly at John's face and tried to figure out what he meant. "What?"   
  
"You know... tuck... as in tuck my junk in... how convincing do we have to be?" John opened the door all the way and stepped out. He was wearing a black lace evening gown, (with a fake bust underneath) the slip underneath was neon green, and the flashes of colour were rather striking with John's complexion. But Sherlock's eyes were instantly drawn to the rather obvious bulge nestled between John's legs.    
  
"Yeah, alright. We've got to tuck. Come help me." John withdrew a pair of nylons out of the box and headed into the bedroom. From his nightstand he fetched a roll of medical tape and tossed it at Sherlock. "I'll, erm, do the tucking... you just tape everything in place for me.” 

He hiked up his dress and lay back on the bed. It took him a few tries, but eventually he  _ comfortably _ got his balls tucked up then his penis. 

“Good thing you prefer your doctors clean shaven.” John joked as Sherlock ripped off a length of tape, “or else this would really hurt.”

“You’ve… done this before.” The realization came to Sherlock then, partly because of how calm John was being, but also due to his knowledge on the subject of  _ Tucking. _

“Yeah, back in Uni.” John made a weird face as Sherlock’s cold fingers touched his skin, but continued talking, “Believe it or not, but I used to bar tend at a drag queen club. Found I made better tips if I was also in drag,”

“Interesting…” Sherlock applied one last piece of tape then stood up.  “You should… do me as well.”

“Probably a good idea, yeah.” John sat up, carefully, and stepped into a pair of y-fronts, then then nylons. After a few minor adjustments he gave himself a satisfied nod then turned to Sherlock who was now naked and lying on the bed. It only took him a minute to help Sherlock, who was a fast learner and already had himself tucked away by the time John had turned around. When they were finished John tossed Sherlock a pair of y-fronts and nodded to his box of stuff. 

“The nylons help, trust me. They keep everything in place if the tape starts to come undone.”

“Right.” Sherlock nodded and gingerly walked towards the box while John went back into the bathroom to finish getting ready. 

John pulled a wig out of the box that was made up of soft blond ringlets. It took him three attempts to remember how to correctly apply a wig, and when he had it on he kicked himself for not doing his make up first. When he was finally ready, high heels on and everything, he stepped into their shared bedroom and let out a low whistle. Sherlock was in a royal purple gown that was form fitting all the way to the knees where it then flared out dramatically. He had on a jet black wig that went all the way to his lower back, and was just applying the finishing touches to his winged eyeliner when John walked in. 

“Jesus, you’re a sight.” John shook his head, closed his eyes, and thought about their latest case as he willed the tingling that came before an erection away. Now was _not_ the time to get hard.   

Twenty minutes later, two women dressed in evening wear stepped out of Baker Street and into a waiting taxi. Once inside the relative privacy of the car, John decided it was about time he learned why he was dressed as a woman. 

“Remember the e-mail we got a while back, the one where the woman was suspecting her girlfriend of cheating?” 

“Yeah, but we don’t do domestics.” John, who was rather confused why Sherlock was asking this, looking over to his gorgeous roommate and had to fight the urge to snog him right then and there in the taxi. 

“No we don’t, too dull. But she sent me a second e-mail this morning. She now believes that her girlfriend is _not_ cheating on her, but is somehow being forced or blackmailed into doing something against her will.”  

“Something like…” John, still confused, wished Sherlock would just spit it out. Mystery was nice, but not all the time. 

“Smuggling. See the girlfriend co-owns this club with her brother. The brother has…. A record that would make Lestrade blush.”  

“So the client?” 

“Ruth.” 

“So Ruth believes her girlfriend?” 

“Alice.” 

“Alice is being blackmailed by who? Her brother? Smuggling what?” 

“Counterfeit money, if I’m correct.” 

“It’s a good thing I brought this then.” John lifted up the skirt of his dress and flashed Sherlock his leg. There, strapped to his left thigh was a gun that was only slightly bigger than the size of John’s mobile. 

“That’s….” Sherlock stared and licked his lips as John fixed his dress. 

“Sexy?” John gave Sherlock a wink. 

“A bit, yeah.” 

**To be Continued**


End file.
